


Fruit and a Front Porch

by captbarnes



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Gen, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:50:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captbarnes/pseuds/captbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark and Eduardo reflect back on their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fruit and a Front Porch

**Author's Note:**

> prompt thanks to jami (slowingbytheriverside @ tumblr).

Mark Zuckerberg doesn’t have a lot to complain about.

He was the youngest billionaire in the world, once upon a time, and he created something more powerful than most people could ever dream of. Facebook’s staying power surprised everyone, but no one more than Mark. When he started scribbling things on whiteboards in Kirkland, he never imagined it would get as far as it did, but that’s the power of the internet, he supposes. Things happen without anyone ever intending for them to, and it all passes in a whirlwind - stopping to savor the moment is nearly impossible.

But now he’s here, on the porch of his Palo Alto home, and he’s happy.

It’s been a long time since Harvard, since Sean and the Winklevi and even since Facebook. Things are different now, and Mark wants to be a part of it, but nobody wants an old guy hanging around. He’s way past his prime, and he might still have code in his fingers, but he’s sixty-two years old. Sean was wrong about a lot of things, but there was one thing he knew for certain: “This is our time.” It was their time, and it’s still their time, but Mark isn’t a part of them anymore. It’s time for the twenty-somethings to show the world what they’re made of, and Mark can’t go back to that, no matter how badly he wants to.

It’s okay, though. It’s all okay.

The depositions were rough, and the lawyers were ruthless, and the settlements were a pain in his ass, but none of it matters anymore. The Winklevi don’t have a lot to complain about, what with their Olympic experiences and their millions of dollars. Sean doesn’t have a lot to complain about, but Mark thinks he’ll probably find something. And Eduardo… well. Eduardo doesn’t have much to complain about, either.

The front door shuts quietly and Mark knows who’s coming out to join him as soon as he hears the click. They spend all of their time together now, since neither of them really have anyone else. Mark never got married or had kids, and Eduardo’s wife died years ago, of cancer. It was rough, but they made it through, and now, as they’re sitting on Mark’s porch, Mark can’t help but be glad that they only have each other. That’s how it should be; how it always should have been.

None of that matters now.

He lazily rolls his head over to watch Eduardo fiddling with an orange, long fingers pulling at the thick skin and separating it from the fruit. His brown eyes are focused, eyebrows furrowed, and he wipes his hand on a towel before lifting it to smooth down his salt-and-pepper hair. They’ve both aged remarkably well, Eduardo more so than Mark, and it makes Mark smile to watch Eduardo in the most menial of tasks. It’s something he never took the time to do back at Kirkland, and now that he has all the time in the world, he’s going to take advantage of it.

Eduardo feels eyes on him within seconds but doesn’t look up for a long while - just keeps pulling and digging and lifting at the fruit until it’s completely free of its peel. He halves it with his fingers and holds part of it out to Mark, turning to look at him and smile. Mark takes it, looks down to start pulling the pieces apart, and finally speaks.

“Wardo,” he says carefully, popping an orange slice into his mouth and glancing back over at his friend. Wardo. Some things never change.

“Yeah?” Eduardo replies, still watching Mark.

“Do you remember the algorithm on the window at Kirkland?”

Eduardo laughs, tipping his head back and breaking an orange slice off of his half. “Mark,” he says, enjoying the way the name sounds on his lips. “You’ve asked me that hundreds of times.”

Mark just looks blankly back at him, waiting for an answer. He knows how many times he’s asked the question, but he never gets tired of it. They’re no longer Mark Zuckerberg and Eduardo Saverin; they’re Mark-and-Eduardo. They’re friends again. They’re best friends again, and he just wants to say whatever comes to him, and have Eduardo respond. 

When Mark doesn’t say anything, Eduardo smiles and nods carefully, putting the piece of fruit in his mouth. “Yeah. I do.”

Mark looks away, satisfied, and that’s the end of it.

He doesn’t have a lot to complain about. Eduardo’s here, and that’s all he needs.


End file.
